PURGATORIO, Episode 231. Farewell, Virgil: PURGATORIO, Canto XXX, Lines 22 - 54

The parade of revelation has stopped and everything holds its breath for what comes next.

She's veiled, behind scattered flowers. But Beatrice arrives, in the place of Jesus Christ, her second coming, her advent in the victory chariot.

And as she arrives, Virgil disappears from COMEDY. (Statius, too, even if he's still standing next to the pilgrim.)

This moment is perhaps the climax of the poem as we have understood it up until now. From here on, everything changes. We have moved out of time and into a world beyond human reason. It's a cause for rejoicing but also for great sadness.

The segments for this episode of WALKING WITH DANTE:

[01:13] My English translation of PURGATORIO, Canto XXX, Lines 22 - 54. If you'd like to read along or drop a comment about this episode, please find its entry on my website, markscarbrough.com.

[04:14] Word choices in the passage that reflect its thematic and emotional space.

[07:04] The Vita Nuova as foundational to Beatrice's appearance.

[12:00] Beatrice's colors and the parade of revelation.

[13:39] Christological confusions with Beatrice.

[16:48] Gender confusions during her arrival.

[19:10] The pilgrim's imagined dialogue with a (mis)quote from The Aeneid.

[23:03] The sad, quiet disappearance of Virgil and the pilgrim's pronounced, loud interiority.

[29:02] The silent, almost unnoticed departure of Statius from the poem.

[31:06] The cleansing of the pilgrim as a bookend for the work of PURGATORIO.

[32:39] Rereading the passage: PURGATORIO, Canto XXX, lines 22 - 54

My English translation of PURGATORIO, Canto XXX, Lines 22 – 54

At the start of the day, I’ve seen

The eastern section [of the sky] already all rosy

And the rest of the heavens adorned in beautiful serenity

With the face of the sun rising under a shadow,

So that the eye could withstand it for a little bit

Because of the tempering vapors.

Just so, within a cloud of flowers

That rose from the angels’ hands

And fell back both inside and outside [of the chariot],

Under a white veil ringed with olive,

A lady appeared to me, dressed, beneath a green mantle,

In the color of a living flame.

And my spirit—which already for a long time

Hadn’t been knocked off-kilter by the awe that overcame it

Whenever it trembled in her presence,

Without gaining any more knowledge with my eyes

[But] because of the hidden power that moved out of her—

[My spirit] felt the great power of [my] ancient love.

The moment my sight was concussed

By that high power that had held me transfixed

Since the moment I saw it, even before I’d left childhood,

I turned to the left with the plea

That a little boy has when he runs to his mamma

Whenever he’s afraid or hurt,

So that I could say to Virgil, “Less than a dram

Of blood remains in me that’s not trembling.

I know the insignia of the ancient flame!”

But Virgil had left us. We were deprived

Of him. Virgil, my sweetest father!

Virgil, to whom I gave myself for my salvation!

Not even everything our ancient mother lost

Could have been enough to prevent my cheeks

From turning dark with weeping, even if they’d been cleaned with dew.